


Trees

by creamyoreofillings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, Depression mention, Drabble, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Writing Exercise, all of them tags are like, also, basically just aph america, but still usuk haha, death mention, haha - Freeform, may or may not be another ending to untitled, one sentence mention, rated T for swear words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creamyoreofillings/pseuds/creamyoreofillings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred visits that one spot that had the most memories of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trees

It’s the afternoon, the sun shining brightly in the sky. It was a clear day, something Alfred grew to hate a bit. He prefered the rain sometimes.

He was walking to their usual spot, the large, oak tree that held so many memories. It hurt Alfred a bit, thinking about them.

 

Alfred sat down in the shade of the tree, a bouquet of flowers loosely held in his left hand. He stared forward, at whatever catches his eye. The children playing on the playground, vendors selling hot dogs and balloons, couples of all ages walking along the cobblestone path, anything to take his mind off of today.

 

“Good afternoon, Art.” Alfred started, his voice in a stage-whisper. “Nice weather we’re having, huh?” He chuckled, his eyes turned to the sky.

 

Alfred had an easy, happy smile on his face, although he felt anything but. “You always told me you liked the rain better, but days like these sometimes just..” He trailed off, his voice trembling. “It sometimes makes you wanna.. I dont know.” He shrugs, closing his eyes.

 

“You always have a way with words.. Something I could never live up to.”

 

Birds chirping in the silence that followed, Alfred looked down to the grass.

 

“Mattie said I should take today off, you know? You always nagged me about not doing my homework when we were in college. I…” Alfred stopped, steady tears running down his face.

 

He buried his face in his hands, wishing the tears and the pain in his chest would go away. He sniffled, wiping the tears in his eyes with his sleeve.

 

He began to chuckle sadly, as another memory surfaced. “You’d scold me for being disgusting, using my sleeve as a tissue for crying…” Alfred leaned his head against the bark, looking up at the leaves of the tree, bits of sunlight passing through the sacred green shade.

 

“I miss you…” He choked, fresh tears gathering at his eyes. “Fuck, I still _love_ you, but you’re never coming back.” His voice raised in volume and pitch, anger gathering and clouding his mind. Anger at the world, anger at every single thing that reminds him of Arthur, anger at his stupid heart, and anger at himself.

 

He’s so angry at the fact that he can’t let go.

 

“You told me, right here before the day you died, that you loved- no, you _love_ me.” Alfred gripped the grass, tears gathering again as he continued to stare at the tree’s leaves. “I was stupid, because I knew. I knew that you had depression. That you would _kill yourself_ -” He tore the grass from the ground, and chucked it away in anger.

 

“But I still ran away, because I was a _fucking idiot and coward to admit that I love you, too_.” He screamed, anger bursting in his chest, and streaming through his veins.

 

He punched the tree that held so much, too many memories, blind rage filling him. Alfred didn’t notice the blood dripping down his knuckles, staining the green grass and the beautiful bouquet.

 

He slid down, his anger and rage finally leaving him, making him tired and sad and regretful. He faced the bark, sobbing his heart out.

 

“I’m sorry Arthur.” Alfred sobbed out. “I’m so fucking _sorry_.” He chanted the phrase over and over again, until it became a whisper in the air as his voice went hoarse and his throat sore.

 

“I..” He hiccuped, scratchy and raw from crying and screaming. “I don’t deserve you, and I should forget you.. But I can’t!” Alfred digged his forehead into his palms, the bouquet forgotten in the grass. “I still _love_ you, I always will! And that’s going to run me into the ground, because you're **_dead_ **.”

 

He shook his head furiously, though sluggish with fatigue. “You’ve been dead for **_a year_ ** , but I keep telling myself that you’re still alive, that you’ve never hung yourself in your room, _that you still love me_.”

 

“I dont _deserve_ you, Arthur. You deserve better than someone like me; a fucked up, mentally unhealthy person. Why did you even love me?!”

 

He didnt notice the faint rustle of the leaves, the wind passing through as if it was kissing the tree softly.

 

It’s dark now, and Alfred has long since cooled down, his voice down to a scratchy whisper. He looked at the bouquet in his hands, the flowers’ petals stained with his blood.

 

“You told me once that you loved roses, Artie.” He mused, turning the bouquet in his hands. The white paper that surrounded the flowers and kept them together was dirty with soil and bits of blood. “I thought of being thoughtful, you know?” He sighed.

 

“My therapist said I should rant everything away to the most memorable place I know with memories of you, and…” Alfred ran a bloodied hand through his hair, wincing at the twinge of pain he felt.

 

“I guess I just vandalized park property, huh? But even though this _is_ park property, this tree.. It always feels like it was grown just for us.”

 

Alfred moved his head to look at the spot Arthur usually sat at. It always seemed more greener than the rest of the park.

 

“Maybe we were meant to be? No, we _are_ meant to be, Arthur. Even when you’re not here, you’ll always be in my mind and heart.”

 

Alfred got up, the bouquet in hand, and kissed the bark of the tree, like they used to do. He left the bouquet in Arthur’s spot, and before heading home, he whispered a small ‘farewell’ and a promise to come back again.

  
As Alfred left, the oak tree glowed with a faint green light, as if awakening from a slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so ok im not going to do any more sequels to this,,, and this //might// be another end to the untitled fic??? haha bc what if arthur died ////// ~~tangina~~ ////


End file.
